


Too far away to hold but close enough to break my heart

by SunshineAndaLittleFlour



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty is immunocompromised, But mostly fluff, Fluff, I suppose, Jack Zimmermann falls in love too fast, Jack has some anxiety, Jack never went to Samwell but knows Shitty somehow, M/M, Meet-Cute, a lil angst, but besides that it's mostly painting and watching netflix together from separate places, facetime dates, quarantine au, the title makes it sounds sad but I promise it's not, waiting room flirting, well mostly not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineAndaLittleFlour/pseuds/SunshineAndaLittleFlour
Summary: “I’ll call you,” Jack says, yells really, and Bitty nods.“Goodbye, Jack,” he says. “It was nice meeting you.”And then he’s out the door, ducking into a tiny blue car with Lardo, suddenly out of sight of Jack, who is now realizing that he’s exchanged numbers with someone he’s never actually seen, and who he most likely will not get to see in person for a very long time.He can’t find it in himself to regret any of it, though, and follows the nurse into the back room when she calls his name.Or, Jack and Bitty meet in a waiting room during Quarantine and somehow manage to find love in the time of COVID-19
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 28
Kudos: 189





	Too far away to hold but close enough to break my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, guess whose real sick of being *Jean-Ralphio voice* QUARANTIIIIINED
> 
> Good news: I’m not sick  
> Bad news: I’m Losing My Fucking Mind. I’m an extrovert whose sense of self-confidence is powered by my productivity, so being trapped in my home with no work got old Real Fast. I’ve already knitted two headbands, a scarf, five hats, and a dozen little knitted hearts, reorganized all the books in my possession, and watched like ten episodes of Critical Role. So, it’s Fic Time.
> 
> Will this be the time I write my heavily edited and absolutely disastrous Waitress AU? Maybe later! Right now, like most everything in the world, this fic is about...drum roll please….the coronavirus!
> 
> Many thanks to twistedmiracle who continues to be a great beta and didn’t let me name this fic Love In The Time of COVID-19 because we both know I probably would have. The actual title comes from Alec Benjamin's song Six Feet Apart

The waiting room isn’t as empty as Jack had hoped it would be. There aren’t a lot of people, thank goodness, but even just the four others in the room increase the risk he’s taking in coming here. He should’ve taken Tater up on his offer to go to the private clinic yesterday, but Shitty had been in the process of moving his textbooks into Jack’s spare bedroom, and it was easier to haul books and blunts than it was to face whatever chaos was happening outside his door. 

But he’s here now, wishing he’d brought the bandanna Shitty had folded into a mask for him, the one he’s certain is still sitting on his kitchen counter. Jack feels like an idiot about this whole situation, but there’s not much he can do about it now. He gives the front desk worker his name and then settles into one of the waiting room chairs, keeping a careful distance between him and everyone else. He’d picked a clinic a little further away than he normally would, in the hopes that he won’t be recognized, but the smaller group inside helps.

He did at least manage to grab his book off the counter on his way out, so he props that in his lap and gives a cursory glance around the waiting room. There’s a middle-aged woman in the corner beneath the window, knitting something in her lap, and an elderly man hunched over a magazine across from her. The other two people in the waiting room are a young man and woman, huddled about half a dozen chairs away from Jack, no doubt a couple quarantined together, and they’re wearing what look to be legitimate medical-grade masks. They’re both tiny, but the young man has broad shoulders for his size, close-cropped blonde hair curling around the elastic strap of his mask.

He’s bent over his phone, squinting at it with an intensity familiar to Jack. He shifts in his seat every so often, turning the screen to show the woman beside him something on it. The woman, for the most part, just shakes her head and speaks to him quietly, the edges of her dark hair brushing his shoulder. 

Jack doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring until the man looks up, his deep brown eyes meeting Jack’s across the room, and Jack’s heart gives a little traitorous thump in his chest. 

Oh. 

He can’t see all of the man’s face, not with the mask in the way, but what he can see makes Jack think of honey-warm summers and iced tea, of bonfires in his backyard and the roadside peach stand he stops at on his way to and from the farmers market. 

The man’s eyes crinkle a bit, like he’s smiling at Jack from beneath his mask, and Jack feels his own lips twist up in response. 

He quickly looks down at his book and fights the urge to hold it up over his face. He wishes more than anything, again, that he’d remembered his mask, if for no other reason than to just hide his face. He can’t help but glance up at the man again, though, and he’s still smiling over at Jack.

“You certainly chose the right book for the occasion,” the man says loudly, a little muffled by his mask, but delightfully southern. His words are a bit shaky, the skin under his eyes a little dark, but he’s the best thing Jack’s seen in weeks. 

Jack looks down at his book again, at where Love in the Time of Cholera is written across the front. He smiles wryly at it and then looks back at the man. 

“Bits, who are you—” the woman beside him looks around, then notices Jack in the corner. Her eyebrows raise and she twists in her seat so her sheet of black hair hides her face from Jack as she leans in to say something to the man. 

Jack can’t see the man’s face, but he hopes he’s blushing, even if he feels kinda bad for wanting to flirt with a guy who’s almost certainly in the waiting room with his girlfriend. 

“It felt thematically appropriate,” Jack replies, and both the woman and the man turn to look at him. “And I like Gabriel Garcia Marquez, even if this one is a bit strange.”

“I haven’t read anything of his,” the man admits with a shrug. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a reader.”

“Reading on your phone counts as something,” Jack says, nodding at the phone in the guy’s hand, just to see his eyes crinkle again. The woman beside him huffs and slumps a little in her seat, and Jack feels like the Worst Person. “I’m Jack,” he says anyway.

“Eric,” the man calls back. “But my friends call me Bitty.”

“Bitty,” Jack says, taking a chance and liking the way Bitty’s shoulders turn towards him, the way he lights up this tiny waiting room. “Maybe there’ll be more time for reading since we’re all stuck at home, eh? Something good might as well come out of this.”

Bitty’s eyes crinkle again, but not as much as before, and Jack feels like he’s thrown his foot wholeheartedly into his mouth. This is why he doesn’t flirt, doesn’t try things. This is why he should’ve gone with Tater. He’s been quietly out for about two years now, but that doesn’t mean he should start flirting with people in waiting rooms during pandemics.

“You shouldn’t be talking to strangers who don’t have the courtesy to wear a mask in public,” the woman hisses, just loud enough for Jack to hear, and the guilt in his chest starts to tighten, a rock between his lungs. 

“Lardo,” Bitty admonishes.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jack croaks, Immediately Regretting not leaving it alone when the woman, Lardo, turns her stern glare back at him. “I was in a rush this morning, and I know that’s no excuse but—”

“Jack,” Bitty says gently, leaning around Lardo to look at him fully. “It’s alright. Something tells me you’ll remember next time.”

Lardo snorts, but the rock in Jack’s chest lightens a little bit. 

“I will,” he promises, and Bitty’s eyes crinkle again. “And I’m not planning on going out much after this. My friend and I are going to stay at my place, try to flatten the curve and all that. This was just required for work. Someone there was exposed, so we all have to be tested.”

He’d felt bad bringing Shitty into his apartment when it was possible Jack had been exposed, but Harvard was being weird about its classes and housing, and Shitty’d had nowhere else to go except his parents’ house, who were both over sixty-five. It was better for him to just crash at Jack’s place, probably better for Jack’s sanity too. 

Lardo shifts in her seat, curling a bit more towards Bitty, like she can personally shield Bitty from potential exposure with her body.

“I’ve exhibited no symptoms, though,” Jack adds quickly. “And I quarantined myself for as long as I could before coming here, just to be sure.”

“That’s very responsible of you, Jack,” Bitty says, then elbows Lardo, who remains unimpressed and between them.

Jack shrugs. Bitty’s attention is a warm thing and he never wants to lose it. “It’s nothing more than common sense, like remembering to bring a mask, even if it’s not as official as yours.” 

“Lardo uses them when she spray paints at her studio,” Bitty replies with a little shrug. “We got lucky, I know a lot of doctors and nurses could use them right now.”

“They’ve already been used,” Lardo pipes up, still slumped closer to Bitty, thumbs now flying across her phone screen. “S’not like the doctors are gonna want my artist germs. Besides,” she looks pointedly at Bitty, “you need it more.”

Bitty looks down at his lap, palms rubbing over his jean-clad thighs, and even from across the room Jack can hear him sigh. 

One of the nurses pushes open the door beside the front desk. “Mr. Bittle?”

Bitty crinkles his eyes at Jack again and then stands, squeezing Lardo’s hand as he goes. She stays seated where she is, watching Bitty go with tired eyes. Bitty takes the long way around the office, keeping his distance from everyone in the waiting room, including Jack, whose guilt and anxiety have knotted together in his stomach. 

“It was real nice talking with you, Jack,” Bitty says, once he’s made his way to the nurse. “I hope you stay healthy.”

“You too,” Jack calls after him, and then the door shuts and Bitty’s gone, the room suddenly much darker than it had been before. 

“Hey, rando.” Lardo’s suddenly much closer, still six feet away, but now she’s sitting in one of the chairs across from Jack, the whole line of her body tense. She’s even smaller up close, but every bit of her screams she’d be ready and willing to go toe-to-toe with Jack any day. 

Jack’s guilt twists in his chest again, and he leans his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry about—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Lardo hisses, cutting him off. She points at him with a dangerously sharp-looking nail, and no wonder she and Bitty fit so well, with her harsh edges and his gentle curves. “Bits better come out of that room free and clear, or his parents will have my head. I’m the one that told him to stay up here instead of going home to stay with them, so if you get him sick in this waiting room, I’ll kick your ass, social distancing be damned.”

Jack immediately sits up straight, leaning away from her. His guilt is a boulder on his chest. “That wasn’t my intention—I don’t—I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you and your boyfriend, I’m sorry, really.”

Lardo’s expression, what little he can see of it, seems to soften incrementally. She scoffs, the noise harsh inside her mask, and slumps in her chair again, like she hadn’t just threatened to fight Jack in a room full of witnesses. 

Well, not exactly full, Jack thinks, when he glances around and sees the other two patrons ignoring them completely. 

“Bits isn’t my boyfriend,” Lardo says. “And if he was, he certainly wouldn’t be flirting with you in a waiting room.” 

Jack feels his face heat and looks down at his hands, unable to stop the little smile that creeps into place. 

“Stop,” Lardo says, and Jack looks up at her again. “If these were normal circumstances, I’d say go for it. You’re exactly his type, but, with all this going on…” She sighs and looks around at the room, at the woman knitting and the old man in the corner, the rows of empty chairs between them all. 

“This isn’t really the time for romance,” Jack agrees, and Lardo points a finger gun at him. 

“And maybe it would be, but I can’t risk that. Not with Bitty. He’s immunocompromised, which makes all this a lot scarier for him.” She looks over at the doorway Bitty disappeared through, hands clenched into fists in her lap. 

Glancing over at the closed door, Jack feels heavy. It’s already terrifying, all of this, and he can’t imagine how much worse it is for Bitty and others like him. 

“Why even come in if he’s at risk?” Jack asks, because he can’t stop thinking about a chance encounter in a waiting room neither of them are supposed to be in. 

Lardo shrugs, her bravado seeming to crumble now that Bitty’s no longer in the room. “He needed to be sure. He was due for a check-in anyways, and the clinic website said it was doing special cases only.” She looks pointedly at Jack, who feels like he should be raising his arms in surrender. He doesn’t, but it’s a close thing. 

“Like I said, I may have been exposed,” he says. “I’m a professional athlete, though, so management is sending us all to get tested no matter what. For a few actually good safety reasons and a couple not so good monetary reasons.”

Lardo snorts again, but this time it sounds more like a laugh than something condescending. She looks at him a little more closely then, and Jack sees when it clicks in her mind, who he is and what he does. It happens more frequently than Jack would like, but with nicknames like Lardo and Bitty, there was no way they wouldn’t recognize Jack at some point. 

“I tried to fight them on it,” Jack continues, not sure why he’s telling her this. “Testing me, that is. Not that I wouldn’t want to know, but better to use the test for someone who actually needs it.” He glances again at the doorway, before looking at Lardo again, whose face has softened even further, eyes watching him thoughtfully. “It’s not fair that economic disparity plays a role in who has access to this sort of thing, not when it’s already hurting so many people.”

“Well, Zimmermann,” Lardo says, and this time when she squints at him Jack almost feels like he’s passed a test of some sort. “That’s very socially aware and responsible of you. If only you’d worn a mask, I might actually like you.”

Jack laughs. There’s something refreshing about Lardo’s crass honesty. It reminds him a bit of Shitty. “I have a good friend who keeps me grounded and makes me masks, even if I’m the idiot who forgets to wear them.”

Lardo hums thoughtfully, like she’s assessing Jack. “How much of that book have you read?” She nods at _Love in the Time of Cholera_. 

“This is my second time,” Jack answers. “It just felt...like the time to think about love, even when things are falling apart.”

Jack can’t see what Lardo’s face is doing, but she leans forward again, looking him in the eye. “You seem like a decent guy. So, if you ask for Bitty’s number when he comes back out here, I won’t stop you. But before you do,” she leans forward even further, somehow even more menacing than before. “Think hard about what you’re willing to do for him. If you truly believe you lucky motherfuckers can find love in the time of COVID-19, then go for it. But if not, don’t bother starting something you aren’t willing to see through. Bitty’s dealt with enough.”

The door beside the desk opens again, and Bitty emerges, still looking tired and stressed, but crinkly-eyed, with his head held high. 

“I’m cleared for now,” he says, standing six feet away from both of them. 

“Excellent,” Lardo says, clapping her hands on her thighs and standing. “Let’s hit the road then. Holster said he’d bring by some groceries later so we don’t have to go out again this week.”

“You’re not getting tested?” Jack blurts. 

Lardo shakes her head. “If he’s clear, I’m clear. I won’t take a test someone else needs, not when I’ve been isolating with him since this shit hit US soil.”

Bitty nods, and his eyes stray to Jack again, and Jack’s heart thumps, a foolish thing, but Jack knows that if he doesn't ask for Bitty’s number now, he won’t ever see him again. 

Lardo starts moving, clearing a path for Bitty to the front door, and Bitty goes to follow, giving Jack one more look over his shoulder before turning away. 

“Wait.” Jack nearly jumps out of his seat and steps after him, but stops himself from getting any closer. “Bitty, wait.”

Bitty stops and turns to face him fully, leaning forward a bit, like he also has to stop himself from moving closer to Jack. 

“Can I have your number?” Jack blurts, feeling awkward and blustery, like an overgrown teenager asking his crush to prom. 

But Bitty nods, eyes crinkled, and Jack desperately wants to know what he looks like without the mask.

Jack pulls out his phone and Bitty recites his number from halfway across the room, then once more so Jack is sure he got it right. Jack fires off a text immediately and grins when Bitty’s phone chimes seconds later. 

The two of them stand there, holding their phones and grinning at each other like idiots until Lardo pointedly clears her throat. Bitty starts to walk backward, almost as if he’s unable to tear his gaze away from Jack. 

“I’ll call you,” Jack says, yells really, and Bitty nods.

“Goodbye, Jack,” he says. “It was nice meeting you.”

And then he’s out the door, ducking into a tiny blue car with Lardo, suddenly out of sight of Jack, who is now realizing that he’s exchanged numbers with someone he’s never actually seen, and who he most likely will not get to see in person for a very long time. 

He can’t find it in himself to regret any of it, though, and follows the nurse into the back room when she calls his name. 

***

Jack uses one of Shitty’s leaf magnets—the one that looks just as much like a maple leaf as a marijuana leaf—to put his negative test results on the fridge.

“It’s almost better than the degree I’m trying to get,” Shitty proclaims, turning the magnet so it’s upside down, then starts to root around in the fridge. “Have you called waiting room cutie yet?”

Jack shakes his head. “It’s been, like, three hours tops. I didn’t want to seem too eager.”

“You are eager, though,” Shitty says around a mouth full of cheese slices. “I haven’t seen you this excited about somebody since...ever, I think? And there are no rules for quarantine dating. No rules for Tuesdays at all, really.”

Jack grunts and peels the lunchmeat out of Shitty’s hand before it can follow the cheese into his mouth. “Yeah, I guess, but...I wanted to give him a chance to think it over. To be sure he still wants this. His friend had a good point about starting something right now. It’s not like we can go on dates or hang out anywhere. He can’t even leave his place or literally risk dying right now.”

“Bruh,” Shitty says, flecks of cheese in his mustache. He claps Jack’s shoulder and then squeezes his bicep appreciatively. “This is the perfect time to Jane Austen woo this motherfucker like he’s never been wooed before. Facetime is a thing, texting and phone calls are a thing. Nudes are a thing.”

“I think it’s maybe a little early for—”

“I will not judge how early in a relationship consenting adults choose to send each other pictures,” Shitty powers on, snagging the turkey slices out of Jack’s hands. “You said you had, like, an instant connection with this guy, right? Then woo the shit out of him and when this is all over you can touch hands or whatever Pride and Prejudice said is sexy. Right?”

Jack feels himself nodding along, even if he’s not entirely sure of Shitty’s whole point, because he’s right. Lardo had told Jack not to ask if he wasn’t sure, and he was. He was so sure that his heart was still giving extra little thumps whenever he thought about Bitty.

Jack is sure. 

He pulls out his phone and stares at the keyboard, suddenly very aware that he’s not exactly known for his romantic prowess. 

Jack Zimmermann doesn’t think he’s ever wooed a person in his entire life.

Beside him, Shitty makes some sort of ugly cheese and turkey filled noise, then reaches around Jack and pokes his phone screen. 

“Ask him on a virtual date. Dinner or a movie or both? What would you do if you weren’t trapped in your lovely apartment with your best friend?”

Jack shrugs. “I’d probably take him to a nice restaurant or something. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, and I’d want somewhere discreet.”

“Nowhere more discreet than your house,” Shitty says, slinging his arm around Jack’s shoulder. “You can both make dinner and sit at your own tables and pretend you’re together. It’s romance Jane would be proud of.”

“How many Jane Austen books have you actually read?”

“None of them, but the 2005 _Pride and Prejudice_ movie is seared into my soul. You’re like Mr. Darcy, Jack, and waiting room cutie is your Lizzie Bennet. Woo him with your awkward conversation, vast fortune, and beautiful face.” 

“You’ve really painted a lovely image of me,” Jack deadpans, then looks down at his phone screen and types out a text to Bitty. 

_Hey, I know we can’t really go out or anything right now, but I thought maybe you’d like to have dinner sometime this week, maybe over skype or facetime?_

“That’s cute as shit,” Shitty breathes, reading over his shoulder. Jack shoves him away.

***

They schedule a time for Thursday night when they can have their virtual first date, and Jack finds himself pacing through the house about an hour before, already sweating through the nice shirt Shitty had picked out for him. 

“Honestly,” Shitty says, leaning against the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed. “You should just do this thing shirtless. He’d probably appreciate the view.”

“You’re not being helpful,” Jack grates, jumping when his crockpot lets out a chirp, indicating his food is probably done. He started it too early, too eager, and now the place smells great but he’s sweaty and anxious and— 

“Jack,” Shitty says, and he’s got both hands on Jack’s shoulders, looking him squarely in the eyes, even when Jack tries to dodge his gaze. “It’s gonna be okay. For reals. You’re a charming motherfucker and if it goes poorly then you never have to see him again.”

“I don’t want it to go poorly,” Jack says, quietly, and that admission has him sweating again. “I barely know him, I don’t even know what he looks like, but I want this to go well. I want him to want to see me again, however he can, until I can see him in person. But. I’m a lot. This is a lot, this whole situation is—” 

“Everything sucks right now,” Shitty says, voice even, breathing deeply, and Jack finds himself mimicking the movement. “But this doesn’t have to. Put some chili in a bowl and I’ll get you a clean shirt.”

Jack does as he’s instructed, filling two bowls with italian chili, and when Shitty returns with a darker button-up shirt, Jack changes while Shitty rearranges the kitchen table. He’s back to Jack in a few moments, hands back on his shoulders, breathing still even. 

“Just focus on getting to know him,” Shitty says, then winks. “And if things start to get hot and heavy, don’t have virtual first date sex in the kitchen.”

Jack feels his face heat and shoves Shitty’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he says, quiet, his heart rate slower, his shoulders less tense. 

“I do expect to officiate the wedding,” Shitty says, then takes his bowl of chili and disappears into Jack’s spare bedroom. 

When the time finally rolls around, Jack’s been sitting at the kitchen table for twenty minutes, fingers hovering over the call button. He can’t bring himself to push it, though, and worries he’ll sweat through this shirt too before the date even starts. 

Then his laptop screen starts to chime, and Bitty’s name flashes above the words incoming call, and Jack presses the answer button before he even really registers it’s there. 

It takes a moment for the screen to clear, a few leftover pixels lingering before the image fully clears, and there he is.

Bitty’s even more attractive than Jack imagined. His brown eyes are just as expressive as they’d been when they were all Jack could see, but now there’s more of him. Freckles and a cute nose turned up at the end, a smile that makes Jack feel weak at the knees. It’s almost too much, and Jack knows that if he’d seen the full force of Bitty’s smile at the clinic, he probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask for his number. 

Jack’s heart starts hammering away in his chest, and he’s worried it will leap out his ribcage and through the computer screen to where Bitty’s sitting at his own kitchen table, smiling at Jack. 

“Hi,” Bitty says, his voice a little warped through the speakers of Jack’s laptop, but just as delightfully southern as the first time they’d spoken. 

“Hi,” Jack echos, a bit breathless.

Bitty laughs, and it’s a little delayed, their connection not quite perfect, but Jack loves it, already enamored with the way the sound fills his kitchen. “It’s nice to see your face again, even if it’s through a screen.” 

“It’s nice to actually see your face this time,” Jack says, teasing a little bit as he settles into the call. He feels better now that he can see Bitty, now that their dinner isn’t just some abstract concept in his head or a notification on his calendar. It’s real, Bitty is real, and that more than anything lends Jack his first real, deep breath of the day.

“Oh Lord,” Bitty says, reaching up as though to press his hand to his own face, before stopping himself. “I forgot that you didn’t actually know what I look like. That was an awfully brave chance you took in the waiting room.”

Jack smiles. “I can honestly say I’m not at all disappointed, though I don’t know if I could’ve been. It’s all a bit of a moot point now.”

Bitty blushes, and it’s a lovely thing to be able to see it spread across his cheeks. “Look at me, fishing for compliments. This dinner is off to a rather vain start.”

Jack laughs and spoons at his chili. “I think I’m allowed to say you look very nice. It’s first date etiquette if nothing else.”

Bitty ducks his head and looks at his own food, but Jack can still see his grin. “Well, if it’s only polite, you also look very nice tonight, Jack.”

Jack’s heart gives a happy little thump in his chest. 

“Lord, it’s strange to be having a first date at Lardo’s apartment,” Bitty says. “I’m not usually showing people how messy I am right away.”

“I promise not to judge the state of your place if you promise not to judge mine,” Jack replies, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the marijuana magnet isn’t visible from where he’s sitting (it’s not).

“I appreciate that,” Bitty says warmly. “Suddenly I have all the time in the world to clean, and somehow things are still cluttered.”

The space behind Bitty doesn’t look cluttered at all, more like a home people actually enjoy living in. There’s a bright red stand mixer on the counter behind Bitty’s shoulder, and the corner of a window just barely visible on the edge of the screen.

“How’ve you been handling being stuck inside?” Jack asks. There’s no use pretending they aren’t both trapped where they are, and Jack’s already read most of the books on his shelf, _Love in the Time of Cholera_ still on his nightstand. He’s more than willing to accept recommendations from Bitty. 

“I tried meditating the other day,” Bitty says, with a smile that suggests it didn’t go well. “Lardo does yoga in the mornings, but I’m much better at sitting on the couch with my coffee when I first wake up.”

“I usually go for a run every morning,” Jack says. “And I’m still going most days, just to try and keep a routine, but it’s weird not to go to the gym after too. I’ve started lifting Shitty—that’s my friend, the one who’s staying with me—I’ve started lifting his law school textbooks just to find something to do.”

Bitty laughs. “I suppose you’ve got to do something to keep up those muscles, Lord knows the Falconers wouldn’t have anything less.” He thumbs at the edge of his dinner plate and grins wryly. “I have to admit I did Google you beforehand, just to make sure you were actually, well, you.”

Jack almost wishes he’d done the same, but he likes that the first time he saw Bitty’s face is on their date. It feels a bit more realistic that way, even if it is through a screen.

“Find anything surprising?” Jack asks, because he’s a private person, but only because the world already knows about all the bad things.

Bitty looks at him thoughtfully. “Only that I don’t think people treat you as nicely as they should. And you’re funnier than I expected.”

“Now it sounds like I’m fishing for compliments,” Jack says, ducking his head.

“You deserve a few more of them,” Bitty replies, and Jack’s heart thumps again. 

_Oh no_ , he thinks, but can’t stop himself from grinning at Bitty through the screen.

***

“Soooooo,” Shitty says, perched in the chair across from Jack after he closes his laptop. What little light there had been at the beginning of his date with Bitty has long since faded, and Jack’s heart feels fuller than it has in weeks. “How’d it go?”

Jack just smiles down at his hands, still pressed to the top of his laptop. “We’re gonna do it again on Saturday. I—” he stops, can’t stop the grin on his face from getting even bigger. “I really like him, Shits.”

Shitty’s still grinning when Jack looks back up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Shitty launches himself over the table at Jack, hugging him tight even when they both topple out of Jack’s chair and onto the kitchen floor. 

“This isn’t a mandated human contact hug,” Shitty mumbles into Jack’s shoulder, and it’s uncomfortable, Jack’s arm pinned under Shitty, but it’s exactly what he needed. “I just think you deserve an extra one right now.”

“Okay,” Jack says, and hugs Shitty back just as hard. 

***

“So, just to clear the air,” Jack says on Saturday, this time wearing his headphones he normally uses for running so that Shitty can’t hear them. “Lardo told me you’re immunocompromised.”

Bitty nods. He’s sitting at the kitchen table again, wearing a Samwell hoodie, and just the sight of him has brightened Jack’s day. “I suppose it’s only fair, since the internet told me about your anxiety. You have enough medication over there, right?”

Jack blinks. “Yeah, I, uh, I just refilled my prescription.”

“Good, me too.” Bitty nods again. “I have asthma, firstly, which would be enough of a worry on it’s own, except—” he hesitates, looking at Jack. “I play hockey at Samwell, but my freshman year I—there was a bad checking incident. On all accounts it should've been a quick recovery, but something happened and I, uh, I had ARDS—that’s Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, and since I already have asthma it just. Made things complicated for a while. I’m okay now, really, but with how COVID-19 is affecting people’s lungs, my asthma already puts me at a higher risk, not to mention the ARDS. It’s just better to be safe than sorry.” Bitty shrugs, like it isn’t a big deal, but Jack feels the knot of anxiety in his chest grow.

“That’s, uh,” Jack starts, then doesn’t really know how to finish. 

“Tragic?” Bitty offers.

“Something like that, I guess,” Jack says, giving Bitty a small smile. “Thank you for sharing it with me, though.”

“That’s what virtual dating is for, right?” Bitty offers Jack a smile right back. “Sharing our trauma? Speaking of which, how’s your anxiety been holding up?” Bitty asks.

That question hits something inside Jack, something that resounds wrong, like a miss-plucked cord. Jack takes a bite of his food and chews slowly, giving himself time to think, time to process. 

“It’s been better,” he answers honestly. “But I’m handling it most days. I worry that with the season cancelled and no way to practice that I’ll have to work harder to recover the skills I already have. I worry about my parents, about my team and my friends. About you,” he admits, nodding at Bitty and then quickly looking away. “I worry that things will never be the same after this. I’ve been donating as much as I can, to try and help people who don’t have the support I do, but sitting at home makes me feel a little bit useless, even though I know it’s what’s best for right now.”

Bitty’s nodding along when Jack looks at him again. “It’s hard to get out of bed some days,” Bitty says softly. “Like my body just knows there’s not really a reason to. But I get up and bake every day, because if I don’t I’ll just succumb to the madness. This was supposed to be the best year of college, or at least everybody says the last one is the best.”

Jack’s chest tightens. “It’s your senior year?” 

Bitty nods. “Yeah, and the online classes and stuff wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t miss playing with my team so much. I live in a house on campus with them, and it’s safer here with Lardo, I know that, but I still miss everyone. And the fact that we won’t get to finish playing our final season together is just...hard.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, then swallows. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

***

“You two could watch a movie together,” Shitty says, lounging on Jack’s couch wearing far too little clothing. “Like dinner and a show, or Netflix and chill, the social distancing edition.”

Jack laughs, but when he and Bitty are eating dinner later that evening (cereal, they’d decided, a boring breakfast for dinner), he can’t help but offer it.

“Huh,” Bitty says, stirring his cereal, some ghastly colorful thing that made Jack laugh and cringe at the same time. He’s peering up at Jack from where Jack has his phone propped on the cereal box, and it’s almost like they’re sitting together, but not quite. “That sounds like fun. We could use Netflix Party so it’s in sync.”

Jack nods, even though he has no idea what that is, but Shitty’s rooting around in the fridge and gives Jack a reassuring thumbs up, so he figures it’ll be sorted by the time he and Bitty decide what to watch. 

“I haven’t totally figured out your taste yet,” Bitty says, while Jack chews on his shredded wheat (a perfectly acceptable breakfast cereal, thank you very much, Shitty Knight). “But something tells me it’s not _The Great British Baking Show_ , although I highly recommend that for something non-stressful and tasty.”

Jack’s never heard of it, but he likes the idea of non-stressful and tasty things, especially when he’s eating bland cereal. “We could give it a shot.”

“Really?” Bitty’s moving down a hallway now, his cereal bowl in one hand, so Jack picks up his phone and cereal and moves to the living room. 

Shitty trails after him, careful to stay out of the picture, and starts puttering around with Jack’s laptop. 

“Why not?” Jack asks, settling into the couch cushions, careful not to spill anything out of his bowl. “Virtual dating can still mean trying new things, yeah?”

Bitty’s smile grows soft. “Okay, yeah, alright Jack Zimmermann. I certainly won’t complain about educating you in the ways of British baking. I’ll send you a Netflix Party link.”

Shitty passes his laptop over and Jack smiles at him gratefully. He does as Bitty instructs, clicking the link he’s sent and then suddenly the show is there, probably already completely changing Jack’s Netflix recommendation algorithm. 

“I’ll have to warn you now,” Bitty says, as Jack props his phone against his laptop screen, so he can see Bitty and the show all at once. “I do get a little judgmental while watching this show. All the contestants are very delightful and kind, but it’s not like they can hear me critiquing their kneading techniques.”

“I’ll probably learn something from this, then,” Jack says, and his eyes keep drawing to Bitty in the corner, his face lit up from the blue glow of his own laptop, looking cozy in his familiar red hoodie. Jack wants to be there with him, he realizes, recognizing the pang in his chest for what it is. He manages to finish his thought without sounding too winded, too full of yearning, “I don’t know much about baking.”

“We’re going to have to change that,” Bitty says resolutely, then hits play.

***

It is a very delightful and whimsical show, Jack decides, especially when Bitty gets riled up about one of the contestant’s fruit to bread ratios or their butter usage.

Jack thinks it’s probably too soon to fall in love with someone, especially someone he’s only seen in person once, but somehow that thought doesn’t give him any anxiety. It just makes him feel warm inside, and he spends more time watching Bitty’s reactions than he does anything that happens in the tent. 

***

“I’ve been listening to a lot of Sara Bareilles lately,” Bitty says.

Jack hums and stretches a little bit. He’s not super familiar with her stuff beyond one or two songs that Shitty got really into for a while. Her song about being brave sticks out in his mind, but somehow that doesn’t feel like the one Bitty’s probably listening to. 

Bitty shifts in his bed, the two of them buried in their own late night conversation. His hair is a little ruffled, and it’s the cutest thing Jack’s ever seen. He wishes he could be beside Bitty, or send him one of his t-shirts or something. He thinks Bitty would look cute in one of Jack’s shirts, huge on his tiny frame. He makes a mental note to order a jersey for Bitty, maybe one with Jack’s last name on the back. 

“I saw her in concert last year,” Bitty continues, unaware of Jack’s new t-shirt fantasy. “And her most recent album is just…” Bitty looks down, and he looks pale in the light streaming through his windows, the ones Jack can just barely see on the edge of the screen. “She knows her way around a ballad is all.”

Jack hums again, because he wants to know everything and doesn’t know where to start. “Which one is your favorite?”

Bitty blushes like he does every time Jack asks him a question like that, and Jack doesn’t see it as being overly personal, but he supposes there can be something revealing in asking for a favorite song. He thinks again of being brave and smiles encouragingly at Bitty. 

“I think her song _Orpheus_ is getting me through things right now,” Bitty says, after a few moments of blushing and looking adorable. 

“I don’t think I know that one,” Jack admits. 

“You should listen to it,” Bitty says, head ducked down again, his fidgeting hands just barely visible at the bottom of the screen. Jack wants to reach through and hold them, steady him, touch Bitty in any way at all. But he can’t, and it’s maddening. 

He does listen to the song, after he and Bitty have ended their several-hour call, after Shitty’s given him his “mandated human touch hug number five,” and Jack is lying in bed. He plugs his headphones into his phone, turns off the lights, and pulls the song up on youtube. It’s a slow one, but intentional and Jack listens to it all the way through, then again, then twice more, just to be sure. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jack says, when Bitty answers his facetime the next morning. Jack is momentarily distracted by the way Bitty’s hair curls around his ears, still damp from his morning shower. It’s getting longer, a little more curly and unruly, and Jack wants to run his fingers through it, draw Bitty’s face closer to his and— 

“What is?” Bitty asks, amusement lighting up his features. He’s blushing again too, maybe also a remnant from his shower, but maybe also because he knows what’s got Jack so distracted. 

“That song. _Orpheus_ ,” Jack says, and he’s a little breathless now, dizzy from the way Bitty looks in the morning light. “It’s really beautiful. I can see why you like it.”

“Oh.” Bitty looks away, face flushed pink, and smiles. “I’m glad you listened to it.”

Jack smiles back, even though Bitty’s not looking at him. “Yeah. I am too.”

***

“I was thinking about what you said,” Bitty says, and the sunlight on his features is breathtaking, even if he’s just in that same Samwell hoodie, perched on Lardo’s porch like a cat in the sun. “About how you’re reading more during quarantine, and I struggled through part of a book yesterday, but just couldn’t get it to stick.”

“It’s not for everyone,” Jack says, adjusting the arm under his pillow. Maybe the angle is good for his biceps on the tiny screen of his phone, maybe he’s actually comfortable like this. He won’t admit one way or the other, but he does flex a bit more when he notices Bitty’s eyes tracking his movement. 

“I was on a pretty good audio book streak before the library closed,” Bitty says, and his voice gets softer for a moment. “And I was thinking, if it’s something you’d be willing to do, I wondered if you’d read to me?”

“What?”

“It’s just, you have a really nice voice,” Bitty says quickly, looking away from his phone, out towards whatever Lardo’s front porch has a view of, and Jack wishes he was there now, wherever it is. “And I thought maybe—”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and sits up so fast his head spins a little bit. “Yeah, I’d, uh, I’d like that.”

Bitty looks back at him, a crinkly-eyed smile in place, and Jack likes it so much more without the mask in the way. “I’d like that too.”

“You have any books in mind?” Jack asks, thinking about his bookshelf, how boring his taste may seem to someone like Bitty. 

Bitty shrugs. “I trust you. And it’s more about hearing your voice than anything else.”

Jack feels his face heat and has to look away. He thinks about his accent, the way an ex had said it was too rough, too strange, the way some letters don’t fit in his mouth quite right. He thinks about Bitty’s accent, how Jack likes it much better.

“Okay,” he says anyway, and Bitty’s smile is so bright. 

Later that night, he sits down beside his meager bookshelf and goes through each book one at a time, trying to decide if it’s something Bitty would enjoy. He’s halfway through the last shelf when Shitty wanders in. 

“I thought we did all the reorganizing and donating the first week,” he says, sitting cross legged beside Jack and picking up one of the ‘no’ books. 

“This isn’t—” Jack stops and looks at the three books he’d set aside, not even really sure about those. He wants to pick something Bitty will like, and everything about Jack feels so dull in comparison. “Bitty asked me to read to him, I’m trying to find something he’d like. I thought about ordering something, but so many places are delaying shipping because of the virus and I didn’t want to make him wait, especially since I didn’t really know what I’d order in the first place.”

Shitty stares at him for a second, and then leans over the books to hug Jack. “This is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen,” Shitty whispers against his neck, and it’s ultra scratchy since he stopped shaving entirely. “That boy is super into you. You could read him the fucking encyclopedia and he’d still stare at you with heart eyes.”

“How do you know?” Jack grumbles, pushing Shitty off so he can set a fourth book on the stack. “You’ve never met him.”

Shitty gasps dramatically. “You’re right! It’s been,” he pauses, counts on his fingers, “like seven skype dates and four casual hangouts and I still haven’t met the kid! How can I be sure he’s good enough for you?”

“He is,” Jack says, taking the book back off the stack and adding it to the no’s again. 

“Then I definitely have to meet him. Next call, before you read any of these fine books for him,” Shitty looks at all the books and then at Jack pointedly, “I’ll need an introduction. I’ll even put on pants for the occasion.”

“Appreciated,” Jack says dryly, then pushes the nearest book pile over onto Shitty. 

***

“Did you pick a book?” Bitty asks, and he’s in his favorite chair at Lardo’s place, the one with the decorative pillow that looks kind of like boobs but not enough for Jack to actually ask about it. Jack feels pretty familiar with certain rooms in Lardo’s house by now, and he’s still not entirely sure what her design aesthetic is. 

“I, uh, yeah, I think so,” Jack answers, ignoring Shitty’s emphatic thumbs up on the other side of his phone. “My temporary roommate wanted to meet you first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Oh, Lord,” Bitty says, and there’s a good amount of shuffling on his end, Jack’s screen blurring for a moment before it clears again, Bitty sitting further upright, the boob pillow nowhere in sight. “I’m not exactly dressed for company.”

“You look nice,” Jack replies, because he wants to see Bitty blush and because it’s true. Bitty always looks like he put effort into his hair and his clothes, even though he’s obviously got nowhere to go. “You always look nice.”

“Jack Zimmermann, you charmer,” Bitty says.

“He learned from the best,” Shitty agrees, abandoning his side of the table and scrambling to stand behind Jack, peering over his shoulder. “But he’s not wrong. Jack, you scoundrel, he’s adorable.”

“Why thank you,” Bitty says, shuffling in his chair again and grinning. “Jack’s not so bad himself.”

Shitty slaps Jack’s shoulder and then presses a hand to his own chest. “Jack Zimmermann is a handsome motherfucker, and the world is blessed with his presence, none more so than I.”

Bitty laughs, probably at whatever Jack’s face is doing, and Jack quickly shoves Shitty out of the frame. 

“That was a great meeting, thank you, Shitty,” Jack says loudly, though he’s sure Bitty can still hear Shitty’s delighted laughter in the background. 

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Lardo appears in the corner of the screen, then promptly disappears. “Hi Jack, always a pleasure.”

“Hi Lardo,” Jack greets.

Bitty shuffles back down in his chair, the boob pillow making a reappearance in the corner. “Now that we’ve had a lovely little meet and greet, did you pick a book?”

“I’ve got some options,” Jack says, pulling his little stack of books on the table into view. He’d settled on the three he’d thought Bitty would be least likely to find boring, even though Jack wasn’t totally certain Bitty would like any of them. “It’s okay if you don’t like any of them, I don’t—I’m not—my options are a little limited right now.”

“Jack,” Bitty says gently. “Everything is a little limited right now. It’s okay. Like I said, it’s not really about the book, it’s more about just listening to you.”

Jack feels himself grin and tugs the books a little closer. “I’ve mostly got history books and some memoirs, but I pulled out Sara Novic’s _Girl at War_ , Derek Walcott’s _Omeros_ , and then I did think maybe…” He sheepishly pulls _Love in the Time of Cholera_ closer to the screen so Bitty can see it. 

Bitty laughs, a small, quiet sound. “I trust you, Jack,” he says. “And the cholera book feels pretty fitting. That’ll probably have to be the one.”

“It’s a strange one,” Jack warns, even as he gets comfortable in his chair and opens _Love in the Time of Cholera_ to the first page. “A lot of similar sounding names, a lot of love affairs.”

“I think I can handle that,” Bitty says.

So Jack starts reading. 

***

It takes them a while to get through the book, and they don’t read every time they facetime. Bitty likes to hear him read in the evening, after they’ve both eaten, curled up in their separate beds, their separate homes, trying to feel less alone with the miles between them. 

Sometimes Bitty falls asleep while Jack’s reading, and Jack takes a few moments to just listen to the soft way Bitty breathes, take in how relaxed he looks in the moonlight. Pretend, for only a moment, that Bitty is beside him and not on the other side of the city. 

Sometimes Bitty stays awake, and they get to say good night, both of them bleary-eyed and reluctant to hang up. 

Sometimes they don’t hang up, and Jack lets the call run until they’re both asleep and his phone dies. He wakes in the morning and Wants.

Every time Jack wishes the pandemic will be over soon, so he can see Bitty in person again.

***

“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says, and Jack’s instantly on high alert, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. 

It’s too early in the morning for Bitty to be awake, Jack knows, because he runs at six am these days and while Jack sends a little good morning text before he starts, Bitty doesn’t initiate any conversation until at least ten. But it’s—Jack takes a quick peek at his watch—six thirty, and Bitty’s calling him. 

“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says again. “You are too delightful for your own good.”

“Oh.” Jack lets out a breath and feels his shoulders relax. “Uh, thank you?” 

“Oh, Lord.” There’s a large amount of rustling on the other end of the line, and Jack’s not used to talking when he can’t see Bitty, even if it is just through a phone screen. “There’s a reason I’m not functional this early in the morning. Lardo threw a package at me, and inside it was a Providence Falconer jersey with your name on it.”

“Oh,” Jack says again, and this time he can feel embarrassment staining his words. He’d almost forgotten that he’d ordered it, late after one skype call, purposefully ordering a size that would fit him, just so it would be like Bitty was wearing one of his own jerseys. He’d almost gone with a different player name, just for kicks, but he couldn’t imagine Bitty wearing any name but his. “Yeah, that.”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says, and Jack wishes he could see his face. It’s probably red and sleep rumpled and beautiful. “I’d have facetimed so I could see your reaction, but it’s far too early for you to be lookin’ at me.”

“I’d like to look at you anytime,” Jack blurts and then Regrets. 

Bitty’s silent for a moment, before he lets out a little surprised laugh. “Jack, how is it possible that you’re charming at all hours of the day?”

“Only for you, Bits,” Jack says, and it doesn’t mean it to be flirty, it’s honest and probably a little self-depreciating, but he also doesn’t mind that it comes out the way it does. 

“My mama warned me about city boys being too smooth to trust,” Bitty jokes. “But I think she’d probably think you’re something else.”

“I, ah, I’m sorry the package woke you up so early,” Jack says, trying not to think about parents and good impressions. He’s told his mother about Bitty, of course he has, and he’s sure his dad has gotten all the details from her. Undoubtedly they’re going to ask to visit when all this is over and ask about the kind young man he’s been seeing. “I’m not really sorry I sent it though, and I hope you’ll wear it.”

Bitty laughs. “Jack, I’m already wearing it.”

Jack has never wished more that a call was a facetime. His brain short circuits a little bit trying to picture it: Bitty in his jersey, Bitty was Jack’s last name on his shoulders, Bitty in Falconer's colors and maybe also those little red shorts he’s fond of. 

“Uh,” he says outloud, and is impressed he got that much out. 

Bitty laughs again, and there’s more rustling on his end. Jack can just picture him, laying in bed, jersey on, his phone pressed to his sleep-rumpled hair, grinning and sunny. 

“Uh,” he says again, and then coughs to cover it up. It’s probably not the best move, and the lady walking her dog further up the sidewalk serves to be even further away from him. He gives her an apologetic smile and starts moving again. “I’m, uh, I’m glad. Good. Nice.”

“It is,” Bitty agrees, and he sounds sleepy and further away, like now that he’s thrown Jack through about six different emotions (landing on Horny, which is just what Jack needs on his run) he can go back to sleep. “I’ll wear it later when we facetime.”

“Please,” Jack says, too quickly and too eagerly, but can’t bring himself to regret it when Bitty laughs knowingly.

***

Bitty does wear the jersey for their dinner date that evening. It’s huge on him, the collar revealing a delicious bit of Bitty’s collarbone, the trim set of his shoulders, his waist. 

Jack tries not to leer too much over dinner and then thinks about Bitty in that jersey and nothing else in the shower later. It’s nice enough, even if it’s nowhere near the real thing. 

***

“I’ve started taking a couple classes online,” Jack admits one afternoon, his computer on the kitchen table, his phone propped up beside it with Bitty on the screen. Bitty has his own laptop up, doing homework, and Jack can’t see the screen, but he can see the way Bitty’s frowning at it. No doubt French homework, though he usually asks Jack for help with that. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Bitty says, “what classes are you taking?”

“Just a history course, through the local community college, and, uh,” Jack hesitates, “there’s a website offering free creative courses, and I thought a photography class looked fun, even if I have to take most of my pictures inside right now.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, thinking about the camera his dad had given him last year, the geese by the pond he usually runs by in the mornings, the empty streets when he walks in the evenings. “I think it’ll give me a new perspective on what’s already familiar to me. And maybe I can get some outside this evening.”

“I think that’ll be a nice distraction,” Bitty says, and he’s still frowning at his screen a little bit, but his face is softer now. 

“It seemed like a nice option. And I already have a nice camera, so I didn’t have to buy any equipment like I would for the other classes.” Jack glances over the top of his computer at Shitty, who’s got his headphones in and is frowning at his own screen, desperately moving his hands around. 

“Shitty’s trying to take the embroidery course they’re offering,” Jack explains, then lifts his phone and changes the camera view so Bitty can see Shitty mumbling at his needle. “Neither of us had much in the way of material for that, so he’s improvising with the sewing kit Maman lent me and some old t-shirts. We don’t have much thread either, but Shitty’s making due.”

Jack changes his phone camera back to front-facing to see Bitty watching him thoughtfully. 

“What other classes do they offer?”

“Uh.” Jack pulls up the site and scrolls through the options again. “There’s a blogging one, a watercolor one, this one looks like photoshop—”

“We should do one together,” Bitty says, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard. Then he looks at Jack and shrugs, as if to hide his eagerness. 

Jack thinks it’s adorable. 

“Just an activity for us, since we can’t go out and do a date night.” Bitty blushes again, and they haven’t said anything about what they are to each other, but Jack has categorized every interaction with Bitty (excluding their waiting room encounter) as a date in his mind, so it’s nice to hear Bitty call them that too. 

“That’d be fun,” Jack agrees, then has a brief moment of regret where he wonders what on earth he can do without embarrassing himself. Bitty lives with an artist, and Jack’s never considered himself a particularly artistic soul, photography skills be damned.

“Maybe the watercolor one?” Bitty says, and Jack can see him scrolling, knuckles thoughtfully pressed to his lips. “I think Lardo has some old paints if you have anything at your apartment?”

“You can borrow my little rinky dink art set,” Shitty says from the other side of the table, tugging roughly at his tangled thread. He grunts and uses his teeth to cut the thread, managing to get a few little tufts in his mustache. “The one I got when I was stressed for finals that one year. I was pretty blasted when I used it, like, twice, so there should still be enough paint for you to work with.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jack shrugs. “Why not?”

Shitty digs out his little paint kit and Bitty goes to find some old paints from Lardo and then suddenly Jack is doing watercolors at his kitchen table with Bitty.

The man teaching the class is on the older side, and seems nice enough, but Jack finds his attention wandering back to where he can see Bitty, watching the same pre-recorded video on his own computer. Jack tries to do as the teacher instructs, keep his colors separate and his picture in mind, and it’s interesting to say the least. 

It’s about as difficult as Jack suspected, given the way the colors bleed together, not to mention how his inexperience creates unexpected challenges. But it’s fun, more fun than Jack thought he could have just swirling colors on a piece of printer paper. 

“What are you making?” he asks, after a few minutes of spreading paint haphazardly and watching Bitty paint with his tongue between his teeth.

“I figured,” Bitty says, making another brushstroke, and he could be an artist, Jack thinks, at least with the intentional way he moves. “I can bake ‘em, so why not see if I can paint ‘em.”

He moves the brush a few more times and then reaches forward and plucks up his phone, shifting the camera so Jack can look down on Bitty’s painting. 

It’s a pie, more blob-shaped than circular, but at least Jack can tell what it is. There’s a lattice painted over the top, and the gray pie tin actually has a little bit of what looks like shading to it. Jack is impressed. 

“It ain’t much,” Bitty says, and his southern accent gets stronger for a moment, like he’s intentionally poking fun at himself. “But it’s honest work.”

Jack laughs, then picks up his own phone, switching the camera so Bitty can see the attempt he’s made at rendering a hockey rink with a little black puck sitting at center ice. The lines are crooked, and the darker blue decorative swirls he added have melted into the rest of the ice, but, like Bitty said, it’s honest work. 

“It’s a hockey rink,” Jack adds. “In case you couldn’t tell.”

“No,” Bitty says, and his expression is delighted, peering down at his screen, and he’s looking at the painting Jack’s camera is pointed at, but on Jack’s screen it looks like he’s staring up at Jack, fond and bright. “I know exactly what this is.”

 _Yeah_ , Jack thinks, _I think I do too_. 

***

“I was thinking maybe we could bake something together,” Bitty says, carrying his phone down Lardo’s hallway. The now familiar red stand mixer appears moments later, when his phone and, consequently, Jack’s viewpoint, is placed beside it. Bitty had explained earlier that one of the hockey players at his school had brought it over from their shared house for him, along with the news that the whole team was desperately missing his baking.

“I’m really not much of a baker, Bits,” Jack says, but walks dutifully to his own kitchen, which is sadly bereft of red stand mixers and lovely bakers. “I usually burn the pizza rolls Shitty asks me to make him.”

“Oh, sweetpea, that’s not baking,” Bitty tuts, hooking an apron over his shoulders and then tying a knot around his waist. “I’ll show you baking.”

And he does. Bitty is a Sight to Behold in his kitchen, dancing in the sunlight streaming through the windows, measuring everything perfectly without a second glance. He talks while he mixes, telling Jack stories from home and coaxing him into finding an old box of cake mix in the back of his cabinet, just to do something while Bitty works. 

Jack’s mix is still super lumpy by the time Bitty’s put together some kind of tiny pie masterpieces, topped with beautifully shaped dough leaves and lattice work. Bitty slides them into the oven, and Jack abandons his own project in favor of just watching him, watching the way the sunlight dapples his skin, the way his shorts are just a tad too short.

He notices, belatedly, that his phone battery is getting very low, and he should plug it in soon. 

“We’ll have to try that again when all this is over,” Bitty says, grinning at Jack over his shoulder and Jack can’t help but smile back. 

“I’ve got a decent-sized kitchen,” Jack agrees. “I don’t have much in the way of supplies, but you’d be welcome to bake in it anytime.”

“Don’t think I won’t take you up on that, mister, I’ve seen that oven in the background of your calls,” Bitty says, turning and starting to pile dishes in the sink. His elbow knocks into his bag of flour, and it teeters.

“Bits,” Jack warns. “The flour.”

“The flo—” Bitty turns around again, just in time for the flour bag to tip completely, falling slowly and then all at once, a cloud of flour bursting into the air.

 _That’ll be a mess to clean up_ , Jack thinks, then Bitty starts to cough. 

It starts little at first, how Jack supposes anyone would react to a sudden cloud of flour in their face, but then it grows to something More. Something too thick, too breathless, until Jack can hear Bitty gasping in his kitchen, folding forward towards his knees. 

Jack almost feels like he can’t breathe just listening to him, and something in his chest seizes. 

“Bitty,” Jack says, shouts, really, at his phone, gripping it between his hands and so, so upset at Everything that’s keeping him from Bitty. “Eric!”

And then Jack’s screen goes black. 

He stares at it for a moment, unmoving, like his body can’t comprehend what’s happening. His heart is pounding, Jack can hear it in his head, feel it in his chest, at his wrists, his neck. 

“Eric,” he says again, then swears, loudly and fully. He throws himself toward the living room and spies his phone charger on the coffee table. 

“Jack?”

Jack ignores Shitty and dives for the charger, hands shaking so badly he almost can’t get it plugged into the wall, then plugged into his phone. The screen stays dark for several moments, moments Jack feels stretch on forever, until a little blue light appears and the machine starts it’s slow process of turning back on. 

“Jack, hey, what happened?” Shitty kneels beside him, hands on his shoulders, and Jack can’t look at him, can’t do anything until he knows Bitty’s okay. 

“He,” Jack says, and the words barely make it past his lips he’s trembling so badly. “There was this—his asthma, he sounded like he couldn’t breathe and then my stupid phone it, fuck.” Jack shakes it impatiently.

“Hey, hey,” Shitty says, still calm, still holding Jack. “He’s not alone, right? He’s staying with his friend Lardo, and they’re isolated together, so she has to be there. She’s probably helping him right now. Bitty knows what he’s doing, Jack, he’s had asthma attacks before.”

“Yeah, but,” Jack says, and to his embarrassment he can feel tears pricking in his eyes. 

_Yeah, but I’ve never seen it happen before_.

“I can’t be there for him,” Jack grates out, and his voice feels rough, his throat thick. “He’s too far away, and I can’t go to him because I can’t fucking leave this apartment. I can’t, and he—” Jack can’t breathe, can’t finish the sentence, all his frustration pooling in his chest like a stopped drain. 

“Jack, look at me,” Shitty says, and Jack finally does, and it’s like everything about the past few weeks, the cancelled practices, the sleepless nights, the distance he feels from Bitty every single time they call, it all comes pouring out of him. Jack’s voice cracks and he cries like he hasn’t since he was a child, and he can’t breathe, can’t see, weeks of stress and anxiety finally breaking inside of him, a dam he didn’t even know he’d been building. 

Shitty just pulls him closer and holds him through it, uncaring when Jack gets tears and probably also snot on his t-shirt. 

They sit there forever, or maybe only for a few minutes, until Jack feels the wave start to subside, until the rushing in his ears quiets and the feelings in his chest become manageable again. Until his phone chirps quietly, like it’s been politely waiting for him to get his shit together again before reminding him that someone else has most likely been falling apart somewhere across the city. 

Shitty picks up his phone for him, shows Jack the caller ID—Lardo, Bitty had given Jack her number for emergencies—and then answers. 

“You’ve reached the Zimmermann-Knight residence,” Shitty says cheerfully, like he isn’t still holding Jack’s shoulders, covered in the evidence of his most recent breakdown. “Shitty Knight speaking.”

There’s a pause, and then Lardo’s muffled voice comes through, too quiet for Jack to hear, but Shitty nods encouragingly. 

“And you’re sure he’s okay?” Shitty says, and the final bit of tension in Jack’s shoulders drops. 

Jack feels boneless and stupid and a million other things, but the biggest one is Relieved. Because Bitty’s fine, Bitty’s okay, even if he is still far away from Jack.

“Yeah, he’s okay too,” Shitty says, squeezing Jack’s shoulder and slumping against the wall, pinning the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can pull Jack into another hug. “Jackabelle was just worried about Bits, is all. We handled it, though.”

Lardo says something else Jack can’t catch. 

“Huh,” Shitty says, before Jack reaches up and tries to take the phone away. Shitty smacks his hand away and just grins at Jack. “Did he now?”

“At least put it on speaker,” Jack grumbles, letting Shitty manhandle him further.

Shitty, because he is, in fact, a really, Really Good Friend, does put the call on speaker and sets Jack’s phone on his knee. 

“Hey Lardo,” Jack says, frowning when his voice comes out rougher than he’d like. 

“Why do you live with someone named Shitty who is clearly not a shitty person?” Lardo demands, her voice tinny through Jack’s speaker, and Shitty immediately starts to laugh. 

“That’s a story for another time, my new friend,” Shitty says, then points at the phone and gives Jack a thumbs up. And, really, Jack should’ve thought to introduce Shitty and Lardo sooner, because of course they get along. “How’s the little guy doing?”

“He’s fine,” Lardo says. “It was a mild attack, and he should know better by now than to not bring an inhaler into the kitchen with him.” The last part is shouted, like she also wants to make sure Bitty hears her from wherever he is in their apartment. “He’s resting now, but he wanted me to make sure Jack knew he was okay. And he is okay, Jack, really. Flour can’t keep Bitty down for long.” 

“If that were the case he wouldn’t have so many pie recipes,” Jack jokes, trying to sound like he isn’t dying. 

“Ha, you don’t know the half of it,” Lardo says, then she’s quiet for a moment, muffled noises in the background, and Jack thinks he can hear Bitty’s voice. 

Just that bit of noise, the maybe sound of Bitty, shakes something loose inside Jack, and when he takes a moment to pick it up and examine it, it’s like a punch to the chest. 

Jack loves Bitty.

Jack is _in love_ with Bitty. 

He actually found love in the time of COVID-19. 

He wants to laugh, or maybe cry again, because the feelings inside of him are so big he doesn’t know what to do with them. Or, well, he knows what he wants to do, but getting in his car and driving to where Bitty is isn’t an option right now. He just has to sit in his living room, leaning on his best friend while the man he loves does the same thing miles and miles away. It sucks, Jack decides, loving from a distance. But it’s by far better than not loving at all. 

“Is Bits there?” Jack asks, and his voice is shaky again, but he doesn’t care, he can’t, not when the feeling in his chest is so big it blocks out everything else. “Could I—could I talk to him?”

Lardo’s quiet for a beat longer. “Yeah,” she says slowly, and Jack can almost picture her standing with Bitty, looking him over to be sure, really sure, before giving Jack anything. He both hates and loves her for that. “He’s right here, hang on.”

“Jack,” Bitty breathes into the phone, and Jack scoops it up into his palms, brings it closer to his face like he can bring Bitty closer too.

“Hey, bud,” Jack says, and the feeling in his chest expands even further. 

“I’ll go make hot chocolate or something,” Shitty says, carefully extricating himself from Jack, and he really is The Best. “We probably have some somewhere. Maybe.”

Jack can hear Lardo’s quiet murmuring on the other end of the call, and then, just like that, he knows it’s just the two of them. 

“Sorry about earlier,” Bitty says, and Jack doesn’t wait to hear what comes after that.

“No, that wasn’t your fault,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry that it happened.”

“At the very least I’m sorry you had to see it,” Bitty concedes, and Jack shakes his head, even if Bitty can’t see him. 

“I’m not,” he says, then winces. “It wasn’t great, I’ll admit. I was terrified, actually, but you don’t have to hide away the parts of you that aren’t perfect, Bits. I don’t want you to pretend for my sake.”

There’s a quiet moment and then a sniffing sound, and Jack freezes because, oh shit, he made Bitty cry, and that’s gotta be a crime somehow. 

“Oh, sweetpea,” Bitty says, and he sounds a little muffled and teary, and Jack hurts for him. “You’re such a—ugh, you know what I want more than anything in the world right now?”

“What?” Jack whispers. 

“I want to be able to hold you right now. I’d give my left foot if it meant I could wrap my arms around you and pull you close.”

Jack laughs, and it sounds a little watery coming from him too, love ballooning in his chest. “I get that. I want the same thing.”

“So badly,” Bitty says, and Jack wants to see him, wants to see his face, even if it’s a little blotchy or tearstained. He always wants to see Bitty’s face. 

So he switches the call to facetime and Bitty accepts, appearing a little pixelated but still there. Bitty wipes at his face with his sweatshirt sleeve, hand tucked inside the fabric, and even crying he’s the most beautiful person Jack has ever seen. 

“Hey,” he says, soft and so, so full of yearning. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Bitty laughs, smiling through the tears on his face. “A mess, but here.”

“Me too,” Jack says, then wipes at his own face, suddenly wondering if he’s covered in the gross remains of his breakdown before deciding he ultimately doesn’t care. “It’s good to see your face, Bits.”

“Even when it’s a mess?” Bitty swipes at his face again, almost hiding behind his sleeve.

“Especially when it’s a mess,” Jack teases, and he means it, his heart So Full he doesn’t know how it hasn’t burst from his chest yet.

Bitty smiles, a tender, quiet thing. “You’re too kind to me. I really am sorry about earlier, even if you told me not to be. I can’t imagine it was easy for you after we got cut off.”

Jack shrugs because he doesn’t want to lie to Bitty. He wants to give Bitty everything, even if it means an honesty that scares him. There’s a welcoming depth to being known in this way, Jack is learning, and he wants to dive as deep as he can. 

“I had a bit of my own breakdown,” he admits, waving at his own face. “But it just...put things into perspective, I suppose.” He doesn’t know how to say more than that, how to tell Bitty just how much his world has been flipped, the ground he’s sitting on now the sky he looks up at. Everything has changed and nothing at all is different. Jack is in love and Bitty is still out of reach, but he wouldn’t trade any of it for the way things were before they met.

This is a different kind of loneliness, and Jack would rather endure this than be lonelier still. 

“I get what you mean,” Bitty says, and Jack thinks maybe he does. 

Lardo comes back to fetch her phone after a bit, and Jack reluctantly ends the call, still sitting in the corner of his living room, phone resting once more on his knee.

“You doing alright in there?” Shitty asks, leaning against the doorway. He’s got a slice of poorly frosted cake on a plate, and Jack suspects his abandoned box cake mix has been completed without him. 

Jack opens his mouth and goes to say that he’s alright, that he’s okay now and he’ll probably be worried still, more worried than before, but things are fine for now. 

What comes out instead is: “I’m in love with him.”

Shitty nods like he suspected this and crosses the room to hand Jack the plate of cake. He sits down beside Jack and produces two forks. The two of them eat the slice of cake in silence, then Jack sets the empty plate down between them. 

“Well, this sure was an afternoon,” Shitty says.

“I fucking hate quarantine,” Jack replies. 

“Ha, ch’yeah.”

***

Jack's got Spotify playing a randomly generated playlist on shuffle, too full of a need for something new to listen to anything familiar, when he hears it.

He stops at his apartment door, sweaty and panting from his run, but he can't move, not with the way the lyrics hit, the way the melody swells in his chest.

He listens to it all the way through, standing on his own doorstep, and then quickly yanks his phone out of his pocket and replays it. He pushes his way into the apartment, past where Shitty is sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, his mind still caught in the words in his headphones.

He wants to share this feeling, this song, with Bitty. It fits the feeling in his chest like that Sara Bareilles song, like the way his heart thumps when Bitty's eyes crinkle.

He should shower first because he's probably disgusting, but the Feeling is so big, so much, that he doesn't think it can wait.

Bitty answers the facetime call from his bed, and Jack belatedly remembers that it’s early in the morning. But Bitty answered anyway.

Bitty yawns before he speaks, and he’s wearing the jersey Jack sent him and his hair is a mess and he’s got a pillow-crease on his cheek and Jack loves him So Much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and feels every bit as Canadian as he is for it. “I forgot it was so early.”

“S’fine, Jack,” Bitty says sleepily, burrowing deeper under his blankets and blinking at Jack. “What’s up?”

“I just.” Jack feels a little bit foolish now, but powers on, because he’s come this far already. “I was on my run this morning and heard this song and it gave me the same feeling as that Sara Bareilles song you told me about, so I wanted to share it with you.”

“Oh,” Bitty breathes. “What’s the song?”

“It’s, uh.” Jack pulls up Spotify quickly. “ _Six Feet Apart_. By Alec Benjamin.”

The angle of Bitty’s face shifts a bit as Bitty starts to type on his phone screen, and then before Jack knows it the song is filtering softly through Bitty’s phone, echoing into Jack’s, and they’re both in their homes, screens open to one another, listening to the same song.

It’s a little bit haunting to hear the words like this, but Jack can’t tear his eyes away from Bitty’s face. Bitty, who’s shut his eyes and is listening so actively Jack can see it. Bitty, whose face is crumpling a little bit, like he could cry but is trying not to, and Jack’s heart aches with the distance between them, so much more than six feet. 

The song ends sooner than Jack would like, and Bitty opens his eyes and looks at him. His eyes are a little red, his expression unsteady, and Jack feels as though his is the same, his heart bared on his face,

“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says, and it’s an admonishment hiding an inevitable breakdown. “I didn’t need to feel this many things this early in the morning.”

Jack chuckles, a barely there noise. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” Bitty agrees. “But it makes me feel very far away from you.”

“When this is over,” Jack says, and he can’t stop looking at the jersey on Bitty’s shoulders, the curl of his hair over his forehead. “Can we—can you and me—” Jack doesn’t even know what he wants to say because he wants it all, but Bitty must understand. 

“Oh, Jack, yes,” Bitty says, and Jack can see his hand come up, like he’s trying to touch Jack through the screen. “Absolutely yes. I just want you close to me.”

Jack nods and can’t say anything more, because there’s nothing else to say. 

***

They read and paint and watch baking shows and documentaries. 

Jack takes pictures and sends them to Bitty, pictures of the pond not far from his apartment, of the empty streets in the evening light, of the wildflowers that have started to grow in places Jack didn’t know they could. 

Bitty sends him songs to listen to, songs about being brave or being apart or songs that are about anything but that.

Jack bakes an admittedly very ugly pie under Bitty’s facetime supervision. Shitty eats most of it while on the phone with someone Jack pretends not to know is Lardo.

Bitty tells him about college hockey, about living in Georgia, about a family that doesn’t know him, not really, but are learning to. He tells Jack about his friends back on campus, about the team he left behind and the seasons he played before.

Jack tells him what the tabloid articles got wrong, and the few things that they got right. He tells him about recovery, about second chances, about being surrounded by people who love him without expectations now. About doing what he loves even if it almost killed him once.

They fall asleep talking to each other. They eat dinner or breakfast or sometimes weird meals at strange times. Shitty joins them sometimes, or Lardo, or both of them, and it feels like potential, like something Jack can see them doing in person when this is over. 

They brainstorm ways for Jack to keep up his training in this unexpected off-season. Jack helps Bitty with his French while doing push-ups and then they both pretend they’re not breathless afterwards. 

They almost have phone sex a dozen times, before Bitty gets shy or Jack gets nervous, and eventually they talk about what they want from their first time together. How they both want it to be when they’re actually together. It’s hard on days when Jack wakes up reaching for another person, when Bitty answers his facetime calls wearing his jersey and those little shorts. 

It’s harder on days when Jack can feel solitude settling in his bones, hollowing out his chest, when he wants nothing more than just to be beside Bitty. 

It’s hardest on days when Jack can feel the words on his tongue, hiding behind his teeth, like it would be the easiest thing in the world to tell Bitty he loves him over the phone. But Jack doesn’t want that. It’s a different first time, but Jack wants that in person too. Jack wants everything in-person, but the world is too still, too stuck, like everyone has fallen asleep.

And then one morning Jack rolls out of bed and turns on the news and it’s like the world has woken up.

He’s got what feels like a thousand text messages and emails, a team to regather and a season to figure out. He should call George, talk about what this delay will mean for everyone, but when he looks out his window he can see his neighbors dancing in the street, spinning and clinging to each other like the world had never told them they had to be apart. 

Or, no, Jack decides, that’s not quite right. They’re dancing in the sun and close to one another specifically because the world told them not to, and now this closeness is a sudden gift, a weight lifted off their shoulders. 

Providence is no longer on lock down and the people are celebrating. 

Jack doesn’t call George. He doesn’t respond to the team group chat or the emails still pouring into his inbox about protocol and going forward and changes that they’ll be facing since the world is no longer standing still. 

He picks up his phone to facetime Bitty, then puts it in his pocket again, heartbeat like thunder in his chest. 

“Shitty!” he shouts, tugging on a shirt and throwing himself out his bedroom door. 

Shitty’s standing at the living room window, face and hands plastered to the glass, and he’s crying, but the good kind of crying, when suddenly everything is okay if only because they can be with other people now. 

“It’s fuckin’ beautiful, Jack,” he says, and Jack’s never seen his smile so wide.

“Shitty, what’s Lardo’s address?” Jack asks, patting his pockets, taking stock of his wallet and phone. He tugs on his yellow running shoes and looks at Shitty expectantly. 

Shitty’s grinning, tears running down his cheeks. “You drive,” he says. “I’ll nav.”

***

Jack drives like a person who hasn't driven in months and Shitty gives directions like a person who hasn’t left the house in just as long, but somehow they get there.

Lardo lives in a cute, little, pale yellow bungalow-looking house, the front porch buried under a dozen colorful plants, the door painted a bright shade of green. Jack recognizes the curtains in the windows, the swing on the porch, the way the light slants across the windows. 

He’s out of the car before he even realizes he’s moved, throwing himself across the overgrown yard and up the porch steps. He knocks, sharp and loud, hardly able to stop himself from just opening the front door. He’s never been here before, he reminds himself, even if it feels like he’s lived inside it for months. 

The inside is quiet, and Jack worries it’s too early, that Bitty and Lardo are still sleeping even though the world has woken up, and then he hears pounding footfalls from inside and the door is flung open. 

It’s not Bitty or Lardo, though, but a tall blond man who looks more like a brick house than a person, wearing glasses and gaping at Jack. He probably knows who Jack is, but that’s a problem for later Jack. Current Jack has to see Bitty. 

“Uh, holy shit,” the guy says.

“Is Bitty here?” Jack asks, and maybe it’s rude but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Behind him, he hears Shitty shut the car doors and start shouting, “ERIC BITTLE, IT’S LOVE IN THE TIME OF POST-COVID-19!!”

“Holster, what—oh!”

Jack can just barely see over the guy’s shoulder, but it’s Bitty, there, in-person. He’s wearing Jack’s jersey and looking at him with those familiar wide brown eyes, as though he can’t believe Jack is here.

“Bits,” Jack breathes, and pushes past the guy. 

Bitty moves too, and when they collide it’s like Jack has woken up too, like he was asleep until he wrapped his arms around Eric Bittle. 

This is the first time they’ve touched, Jack realizes, as he folds Bitty into his arms, feels the way Bitty’s hands grasp at his shirt, the way his head fits just under Jack’s. They fit together like puzzle pieces, like two people meant to hold each other, and Jack can’t hold back anymore. 

He pulls back enough to look down at Bitty and then ducks down until he can press their lips together. Bitty gasps a little when he does, surprised, but gives back as good as he gets, pressing into Jack like he’s ready to build a home for himself against Jack’s chest. 

They break apart too soon or maybe hours later, and Bitty’s flushed pink, his eyes closed and lips slack. Jack has to stop himself from kissing him again, and presses his lips to Bitty’s forehead instead, a concession or a blessing he doesn’t know. 

“Hey Bits,” he whispers into Bitty’s hair, and he can feel the way Bitty laughs, a watery sound which shakes the both of them, still clinging to one another. Jack feels like he’ll never let go. 

“Hey, Jack,” Bitty says, and Jack feels like he can breathe again. 

***

“I was starting to feel like it would never end,” Bitty admits, curled up under Jack’s arm on the porch swing. He fits there perfectly, and Jack’s not sure he’ll ever be convinced to let him up. 

The vines growing up the side of Lardo’s house are twisted around the chains of the swing and her many numerous potted plants are tickling at Jack’s ankles. He’s pretty sure his other arm is going numb from leaning against the wooden slats of the swing. Jack has never been happier. 

Lardo had removed the other guy, Holster, from the house almost as soon as Shitty had followed Jack inside, and while Jack very much wants to meet all of Bitty’s friends, he doesn’t really want to do it the first time he gets to touch Bitty in person. 

“Me too,” he says. “I was afraid we’d just have to make that our new normal. And that I’d never see anyone but Shitty again.”

“Excuse you, I am a delight!” Shitty shouts through the open front window, where he and Lardo are inside painting something, or maybe playing a game, or maybe just talking, curled up together like Bitty and Jack. 

“I love you but vacate my apartment as soon as possible,” Jack shouts back, joking and already making plans to get Shitty a better bookshelf for his textbooks. They’ve lived together this long, Shitty might as well finish the school year from Jack’s spare bedroom. 

His phone vibrates against his leg again, a steady hum he ignores. He’s not later Jack yet, and the Falconers and anyone else who needs him can wait another hour or two. 

“Sweetpea, you’re awfully popular today,” Bitty says, leaning further against Jack, undoubtedly feeling his phone going off in his pocket for the eighth or ninth time since they’ve curled up on the swing. “Or are you this busy every day?”

Jack hums and wraps both arms around Bitty’s shoulders, pressing his nose into his hair. “It’s just George. Or Tater. Or somebody else on the team, probably just wondering why I haven’t replied to any of their messages yet.”

Bitty stills, then pushes away from Jack enough to look up at him incredulously. Jack has long enough to wonder what he’s done wrong before Bitty’s cupping Jack’s face with his hands. 

“Jack Zimmermann,” he says, disbelievingly. “Are you saying that you haven’t answered any messages yet? That the first thing you did today was come here? To see me?”

“Well, yeah,” Jack says, because it was the obvious choice, the only choice really. “Of course. There’s no one else I wanted to see.”

Bitty keeps looking at him, brown eyes wide, his hands on Jack’s face. “You,” he says, and his eyes crinkle, his smile wide and lovely. “You ridiculous man, you really are something else.”

Jack shrugs, sliding his hands up to rest over Bitty’s. “Well, yeah,” he repeats, his heart thumping in his chest, because they’re in-person now and the words that have lived between his teeth for months are breaking free. “Yeah,” he says, quieter, into the space between the two of them, “I love you, Bits.”

“Oh, sweetpea,” Bitty says, then bursts into tears. 

Jack suddenly feels like he’s messed up somehow, but is unable to regret it. He starts to drop his hands from Bitty’s, but Bitty lets go of his face and grabs at his hands instead, tipping forward until his face is buried in Jack’s chest. 

“Don’t you move,” Bitty manages to say into his shirt, and Jack’s never been great with crying people, so he stays still, until Bitty lifts his head again and wipes at his eyes. “Lord, Jack, you can’t spring something like that on me when I’m already so happy. I’m likely to burst from it all.”

“Uh,” Jack says, and Bitty laughs, which is a little bit confusing, but he’s still holding on to Jack, still pressed so close to him.

“Oh, Jack, I’m sorry, that wasn’t how I meant to react.” Bitty wipes at his face again but Jack beats him to it, brushing his thumbs over Bitty’s cheeks. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” Jack says, and it’s true even if it hurts a little bit, because Jack will keep on loving Bitty even if Bitty’s not there yet. 

“It’s been awfully hard not to say it before this,” Bitty says, leaning closer to Jack, and Jack can feel both of their hearts beating, their own personal song. “I’ve been loving you a long time, Jack Zimmermann, and I certainly do love you now.”

A laugh bubbles out of Jack’s chest and he keeps laughing even as he leans in to press his lips to Bitty’s again. They both laugh into the kiss, sitting beside each other at last, on a porch swing at someone else’s house. 

They laugh a bit more until the kiss breaks and it’s all they can do to hold each other close, and Jack feels like he’s come home at last.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished writing this fic and walked into my living room and was Genuinely Shocked when the news did not say the quarantine was over. The Betrayal. 
> 
> Fic Reference Stuff:  
> Please listen to Sara Bareilles’ Orpheus and Alec Benjamin’s Six Feet Apart because they’re both Brilliant  
> Domestika is the service currently offering free classes, join me in embroidering shitty pineapples everywhere  
> Netflix Party is a real thing and I would like to personally thank whoever created it because it has Provided  
> Also, I’ve never actually read Love In The Time of Cholera sorry
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
